Memoirs of an Englishman's Pillow
by mymanisfictional
Summary: No one really knows what kind of things a person's pillow bears witness to. Let's view some of the heavy moments in Arthur Kirkland's life that have been etched into his.


**So yeah, I've been wanting to write some Spamano lately... So here's a USUK xD Yeeaah, I don't know either, I came up with this idea with Lovino in mind, but as I decided it worked better with Arthur and Alfred. Isn't that good news for you USUK fans~? :3 As for my Spamano fans, do not fret, for I'm in the process of writing some Spamano fics, too~**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia!**

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_**Blood**_

_I was there after they first met. _

"I can't believe people that idiotic even exist!" Arthur Kirkland seethed, slamming the door to his bedroom shut. He paced back and forth in front of his bed in an obvious state of agitation, muttering things to himself the entire time.

Whirling around, he addressed his favorite stuffed green winged bunny that sat on a shelf. "Can you believe he had the audacity to make fun of me before we knew each other? Then after going on about my eyebrows and my clothes and making a total arse of himself and me in front of everyone, he introduces himself as if nothing had happened!"

Here he did some more pacing, growing more and more frustrated the more stories he recounted about his day with the obnoxious American. Having such a short temper as it was, it didn't take very long before he snapped.

"Damn that blasted, good-for-nothing Yank!" Arthur shrieked. In a fit of rage, he picked up his pillow and flung it across the room. It sailed through the air and knocked over a glass unicorn, the force sending the fragile item to the ground. The sound of the shatter brought him back to his senses, and he heaved a shaky sigh. He crossed the room and kneeled beside the shards, picking up the largest ones to throw away.

"Ow!" Arthur immediately dropped the glass pieces and studied his middle finger. A particularly jagged shard had sliced him there. He stuck the wounded digit in his mouth for a moment, grimacing at the metallic taste. Then, removing his finger from his mouth, he stood, grabbed the pillow and placed it back on the bed before hunting for the broom.

He would notice the drops of crimson on the pillow later; he would wash it off, of course, but he could do nothing about the memory of the violent moment that led to that, now permanently ingrained into the pillow.

_**Sweat**_

_I was there when they first got together._

The pair arrived in a stumbling mess of limbs, their bodies intertwined so that one couldn't tell where Alfred ended and where Arthur began. The main point of connection, however, was their lips, which were locked in a passionate kiss.

"Arthur," the American panted. He only parted their lips just enough to breathe out his next words. "I love you."

"Alfred," the Brit whispered in response. He kissed the man deeply and said, "I love you too."

For several long, heated minutes, no other sounds were heard besides their heavy breathing as they continued to kiss, slowly removing clothing as they went, eager to explore each other's bodies with their hands and mouths, fingers and lips.

They were nearly naked when they finally collapsed together onto the bed. Heated bodies pressed tightly against each other and in the passion of the moment, Arthur murmured, "Alfred, make love to me, please…"

Nodding, and staring at Arthur so tenderly it brought tears to the Brit's eyes, Alfred kissed his lover and gladly complied. That night they drenched the pillow in sweat, staining it with their love.

_**Tears**_

_I was there when he broke his heart. _

Ever since he got together with Alfred, Arthur Kirkland rarely entered his room normally. He would storm in angrily or was swept in locked in Alfred's arms – today was no different. This time, Arthur ran in with wet eyes and a cracked voice.

"Why?" he sobbed, throwing himself onto his bed. "Did I really fuck up so bad for him to leave me? I just don't understand!" Each word was punctuated by a shaky fist pounded into his mattress.

He said no other words after that, but he really didn't need to. Although there was no other person present, his sadness permeated every inch of the room; his actions made clear what his feelings were and what his voice couldn't reveal.

Arthur remained in that position for hours, crying harder than he had in a long time. The ache in his chest throbbed with every shuddering breath he took, and thoughts – all of _Alfred, Alfred, Alfred_ – ran rampant through his head.

Arthur cried and wept and sobbed until his pillow was thoroughly soaked in his tears. It clung to his cheek as he slept that night.

_**Saliva…?**_

_I was there when they had their happy ending. _

Arthur was sitting on his bed, trying and failing to read a book, not being able to get past the page he was on. Perhaps he shouldn't have chosen a romance novel so soon after his breakup, especially one with a blond male as the love interest.

Needless to say, he was glad to have something else to do when he heard the knock at his front door. He hurried downstairs to greet the person, but as soon as he recognized the man at the door, he promptly slammed it back shut.

"Arthur, let me in, please! We need to talk," Alfred entreated loudly through the door.

"What is there to talk about?" Arthur responded dully. He really was not in the mood to talk to him. He didn't need any more heartache.

Alfred begged, coaxed and whimpered for a few minutes; when that didn't work, he threatened and sweet talked. Still, nothing he said could get him inside.

Arthur waited until it was silent on the other side of the door. Silently, Arthur turned on his heel and returned to the solace of his bedroom. He collapsed onto the bed and buried his face in his pillow; he stayed in that position until he heard the sound of his door opening and footsteps approaching him. When he glanced up, he saw Alfred standing over him sadly.

After getting over his initial shock and rage, Arthur agreed to listen to what the American had to say. In low, murmuring tones the two talked, sometimes arguing, often times confessing, and always with a loving ache in their hearts. It took a while, but somehow, the two forgave each other their transgressions and joined together once more.

"I love you, Arthur."

"I love you too, Alfred."

Hours later, when Arthur woke up from his peaceful post-coital slumber, he glanced over at Alfred, smiling. That smiled quickly faded into a scowl. He yanked the pillow out from under the sleeping American's head and proceeded to smack him with it.

"Dammit, Alfred, don't drool on my pillow!"

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**Very different from what I usually write, so I'm a bit anxious as to what you all think of it. Please let me know in a review~! **


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